Red Leaves
by FloatingKitties
Summary: The 47th Annual Hunger Games were soon forgotten by the citizens of Panem, outshone by the Quarter Quell three years later. But there is one former tribute who remembers every detail, as the only one that came back home. Follow the tributes around and witness the trials they faced in the arena. If I can't decide who lives, I might let you guys vote on it.
1. No Fun

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. However, I do own this. So no one can steal this, all right? We clear on that? Good. Honestly, does anyone even read these? If you did read this, post a review saying you did. And I won't believe you unless you use the key phrase "Aurora Borealis Whales". Then I can check to see if you actually read it or not. **

**AN: Ok, so I wrote this story in my head a couple weeks ago, and so I decided to post in. Because I have nothing better to do with my life. Seriously, I bet I could be finding the cure for cancer right now, but nope! I've got more important things to do. Like write fanfiction. That is what this world has come to. Anyway, if you catch any of my stupid spelling mistakes, please inform me through a review. Enjoy! But seriously please do review. **

**Terrance Kolek (16)- District 8**

When I open my eyes, I immediately knew today was not going to be fun.

Well, that's not too surprising. Today's the day everyone fears. The day when two children will be ripped away from their loved ones and forced to battle to the death. It's the day that the Capital will begin to get all excited about teenagers murdering each other. Today's the Reaping. The 47th Reaping, to be exact.

Well, at least I get off of work today.

Believe me, working in a textile factory is not fun. At all. It's hot, stuffy, and most of all, dangerous. Dresses can't be worn, for fear of getting them caught in the machines, so all the girls have to wear trousers. Long hair is out of the question. We value our lives over style. Something similar happened at the clothing factory I work at, back when I was about eleven. I had to cut my neighbor's hair myself to keep the machine from further ripping off her scalp.

My father's already had breakfast by the time I arrive downstairs. He passes me a slice of bread with jam already pre-spread over the face. This is a new thing. He's always teaching me to be responsible, starting by getting me to make my own breakfast. I guess he's just worried. There are currently 10 slips in the Reaping bowl that bear my name. Ten times I've had to take tesserae behind my father's back. He caught on eventually, after the regular delivery of flour and oil finally explained itself. He allows it, because he wants me to make my own choices, but that doesn't mean he doesn't try to stop me every year.

We both sit in uncomfortable silence for a while, the both of us not knowing what to say. I'm all my father has left after Mom died. He wouldn't give up in despair if I followed her to heaven, but he would be even quieter, going through each day slower, each one more tired than the last. That's why I got a job at the age of nine. To keep the both of us from starving.

Eventually, my father breaks the silence.

"Terrance." I look up.

"Whatever happens, I believe in you. You are not the type that would quietly roll over and die."

Though morbid, this encouragement is slightly soothing. My father believes in me. That's all I need

We walk together to the square, where a large decorated stage brightly shines in the middle of the dreary background. All I've ever known is the sooty, dirty grays and browns of the city, the factory, and even the people themselves. So the strange, teal colored escort with sparkles and diamonds adorning her dress and matching hat, along with the stage itself, is slightly unnerving. I check myself in and make my way through the crowd. I turn to face my father, and bid him farewell before entering the sixteen's section.

A hush falls over the crowd as the mayor makes the same speech he does every year. After he is finished, the escort merrily prances up the microphone, somehow accomplishing this amazing feat while wearing four-inch high-heels.

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome." she says, beaming. "You've all been waiting so patiently, and so let's get started! One of these lucky young adults will have a chance to bring honor and glory to your district. Isn't that exciting?"  
She doesn't get a response. She doesn't expect one. The escort makes her way over to the girl's glass ball, and get's it rolling. From the inside, she selects a single slip of paper. A slip of paper that is a death sentence to someone in this crowd.

"Antoinette Ruthers."

A girl from the thirteen's section screams. Antoinette is a tiny, petite, skinny little girl who looks like she's having a panic attack. But somehow, she makes her way up to the stage and stares, shaking, into the blank faces of the crowd. Perhaps she doesn't want to cry onstage. Or perhaps she is too scared to. But the escort is already getting the boy's ball rolling. She selects a slip of paper.

A slip of paper that is a death sentence.

My death sentence.

**Antoinette Ruthers (13) – District 8**

I stand in the crowd, shivering. I wish we could afford a coat.

This is my only my second reaping. I've never had to take tesserae, so my name's only in there twice. I have only a sliver of a chance of being reaped. A practically non-existent chance. So why am I so worried? If anything, I should be worried about Marcus.

Only two years older than me, Marcus was crippled at birth. He has a backwards leg, so if he get's reaped, what chance does he have of surviving? An even less can than I do. And that's saying something. Neither of us has had to work, so we aren't any good with tools or anything. And our family, while not incredibly rich, is far from going hungry, so we don't have any experience with coping without food. And the only thing remotely resembling a weapon is a makeshift slingshot, and even with that I'm no good.

I stand on my tiptoes, trying to peer over the heads blocking my view. Through a tiny crack in the sea of bodies, I can see the stage and the escort approaching the girls' ball. I can also hear the name being called.

It's mine.

A shriek erupts from my mouth before I can smother it. This can't be happening. How can this be happening? I am going to die in a bloody, painful, ugly way, all by myself. All alone.

I tell myself to calm down. I'm to scared and shocked to cry anyway. As I stand on the stage, the blank expressions of my district stare back at me. Soon the boy tribute is called up, Terrance Kolek. We shake hands, and when our faces meet, we both acknowledge the same thing. We are both going to die.

I am going to the Hunger Games.

**AN: K that's it. I'll try to update later tonight if I can. Next up, District 11!**


	2. Cornhusk Twins

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

**Jessie Thresher (15)- District 11**

My sister really can be stupid at times.

Jamie is constantly rushing into things she isn't prepared for; fights, games, stupid dares, you name it. She really needs to learn to slow down, to think things through. And now, we are late for the Reaping. Because my genius of a sister had the brilliant idea of taking a shortcut through a cornfield. A CORNFIELD. Those things are huge! You can get lost for days in them, and we've only got thirty minutes. And of course, neither of us knows where we are. And no one else knows where we are either.

I tried to get her to stop, to slow down, and find a way to get back to the rest of the district. But nope! Jamie keeps on plowing through. Her excuse? Apparently she has a natural sense of direction. At least, according to her she does. I have yet to see this sixth sense of hers work in an actual situation. As far as I can tell, she doesn't know where we are. She's just pretending she does. Twin sisters are practically the most annoying, irritating, exasperating things created on this earth.

By the time I can get her to stop, both of our nice clothes are covered in bits of dried cornhusk and dirt.

"Come on Jessie! We're going to be late!"  
"And whose fault is that?"  
"Oh right, because everything always my fault Jessie! Stop trying to act like you know better than I do!"  
"I do know better than you do! You're constantly doing stuff like this and I don't understand why! Why can't you just listen to me instead of doing something that will likely get you ki-

"Sh! Listen!" Jamie whispers. It takes a while, for my ears to adjust, but eventually, a strange noise begins to register in my ears, coming from the distance. It's hard to hear at first, but eventually, it begins to sound very familiar. In fact, it almost sounds like-

"Jessie, it's the crowd! It's over here! Come on!" she yells, taking off in the direction of the noise. Placing all hope I have left into her chosen path, I run after her. With each step, the noise gets louder and louder. There's no doubt that it's the crowd now. Soon the stage comes into view. And it seems as if the ceremony is about to start.

Bursting out of the field, we check ourselves in at the last possible second before ducking under the gate. The Peacekeepers are glaring at us for nearly being late, for nearly missing the Reaping, for nearly committing a crime punishable by whipping at the least. Making our way to the fifteens section, we squeeze in at the edge with everyone else. Together, we try to remove the cornhusks from our clothes as the Mayor continues his speech. Jamie loosens her straw hat to run her fingers hurriedly through her hair, trying to get out all the dust. It's not much use. That stuff is just sticking to her hair.

Eventually, the mayor finishes his long speech, and the escort approaches the balls. Our escort gives his short, peppy speech about how excited he is to be here, how two of us will be so lucky to visit the Capital, how we might bring home the glory this year. Soon though, he finishes up and gets the ball rolling. I'm to busy telling Jamie to stop picking at her hair that I almost miss my name being called.

"Jessie Thresher? Is there a Jessie Thresher here?"  
I only have a second to meet Jamie's horrified gaze before the Peacekeepers come to collect me. I walk down the long aisle of people, watching them step back to make room for me. I move a normal but deliberate pace, so as not to seem scared. I reach the stairs and climb up to the stage right next to the escort. He ten makes his way over to the girls' bowl and gets it rolling. I don't have much chance in the arena. I can use a scythe, but the likely hood of a simple farming one is small. I've already accepted the fact that I'm going to die. And I do mind. But at least Jamie will be okay. At least she'll be alive. That's the one thing that comforts me.

But even that comforting thought is ripped away as soon as the next name is called.

**Jamie Thresher (15)- District 11**

My brother just got reaped. My twin brother is being sent to his death.

How could this have happened? Out of all the names in that bowl, his was only in there seven times! That's nothing compared to some kids. So how did he get picked? What are the chances? It must be one in five thousand! So how did he get selected?

He can't leave me alone here! Neither of us has anything left but each other. Mom and Dad got sick a while back, and departed for the next life, leaving the two of us with our older brother, who was soon to follow. For the past three years, we've been living in the orphanage together, but that place is just a nest of children all packed in together, each one trying to steal your food, along with all your stuff. I can't do anything without him. He's the voice of reason, my voice of reason. I need him here with me.

The escort is already picking the female tribute, the poor girl who will die along with my brother. I'm too busy starting at my brother to notice the name called.

"Jamie Thresher!" It takes the escort to realize the relation between the names. "Oh, a sibling pair? What a twist! This is exciting!"

I slowly make my way up to the stage, my eyes locked with my brother's. Jessie is staring at me with a look of shock and horror, his eyes wide with disbelief. I understand how he feels. No matter what happens, we will never be able to be twins again. Oh, well. If I need him with me, then he needs me with him. So I guess we'll get to die together then.

Both of us can handle farming tools, but that's about it for weapons. We could probably identify poisonous fruit and berries, but it's possible the arena won't have natural food. I've done some street fighting before, but that was just for fun, and neither of us was taking it seriously. And as for the killing part, I don't think either of us could bring ourselves to end another's life.

The escort instructs us to shake hands. Our hands grasp each other's, both of us giving the other a slight squeeze. We should have let go by now, but… neither of us wants to. So we stand here, holding hands, prepared to face death together.


End file.
